Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Gears
by putzaTRONIC
Summary: this is my rewrite of the third harry potter book with a twist STEAMPUNK HWO YEAH
1. Chapter 1

Putza: ok heres a new story got the idea in the middle of a science class so i wrote this down, i dont own Harry Potter, but i do own this story, ive said it here so i cant be done in for copywright

Steampunk: my own story hell yeah

Putza: please R&R

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Fate is complex it's like a clock, gears turning, springs pushing and pulling, all to move the hand a millimetre, but even the slightest mistake in the fabrication of the clock can cause problems. That is what i am, a broken gear, never able to complete my purpose in life. It's hard to put your mind into contemplating one person is not able to complete what they are supposed to do in life, but that's it you see I'm not a person, I'm a creation, an abomination left to wonder what i am, left to be mocked by the harsh world.

By now you're asking what I am, that's simple I'm Steampunk, a creation of flesh and gears, able to tell everything about you within five seconds of meeting you, my right arm is the work of a master piece, fine sliver with angelic designs, it alone has the strength to break the hand of even the strongest man, built in to this work of art is an arsenal of weapons ranging from a small assassin blade, to the furious minigun. My right hand is of similar design only without the arsenal of weapons it instead makes its use out of being able to leave my body and searching for help or shelter. Both my legs from the knee down are reconstructed to allow me to run up the side of building, bound over five ft tall walls in ease while running faster than thirty miles per hour.

Now from that you think i look like a heavenly but that here when i come to my face, half my face is a sliver reconstruction of a human skull, allowing people able to see the gears inside the rest of my head, the other side of my head is gears and only gears constantly turning in the never ending view of the un-accepting public eyes. But the only feature that no one avoids is my right eye, a organic eye inside a machine able to get all information from a glance.

How did this happen to me i don't know, my earliest memories are of waking up in a pool of blood, all i live for now is to find out who i was and how this happened to me, by any means i will find out my history.

I am Steampunk and this is my story.

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Putza: so thats the start please dont read this then say its not a harry potter fic i need time to introduce all my ideas so more chapters


	2. Chapter 2

Putza: long time no see

Steampunk: you can say that again twat

Putza: Oi i created you and ill end you

Steam punk: ok before anything else please read and review

Putza: i only own the story anything you recongise is the owners of the item, if not ITS MINE

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London is home of many abandoned buildings, but none like warehouse 13, a old weapon and ammunition factory, designed in the early days of the first world war, this factory alone produced sixty percent of the British armaments during the first and second world wars, after the second war ended and some sort of uneasy peace was forged , a small clockwork business ran by a Holland family brought warehouse 13, the business was a hit for twenty years each clock manufactured by hand, but after those years the children of the original owner lost interest in the shop, they sold it back to the government who once again used it for military purposes storing disused equipment from the second world war. But for sixty two years it stood, alone, rusting slowly.

When it was first constructed it was a symbol of power, now it is a disgrace to London, old and uninhabited. Well that's what the mass of flesh-lings think; i live there alone, among the abandoned machines, and the old skips filled to breaking point with gears and springs of precious metals. People would say this is a miserable existence but i find peace in my solitude, able to tinker with the scraps of human war, free to construct machines of clockworks, some like simple rodents able to gather me items no matter how far away, there are a few that have the appearance of avian creatures, my personal favourite is Galion a mechanical owl who has not left my side since his creation. His body is of similar design as my disfigured, wretched form however he is of pure metal not an unholy fusion of two mediums.

But don't be fooled by his angelic appearance, although his mind is just a mass of gears he acts like a true owl would, he hunts, he kills, he feeds. If he were to reach his full potential of speed his wings would be able to take the head of a man.

CLASH – the door of my home rattled breaking my train of thought Galion flew from his preach and circled me before heading towards the noise. I slowly following my companion, i willed my arm into a blade configuration.

"OPEN UP STEAMPUNK"

Shit.

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Putza:well hope you enjoyed it

Steampunk: please reviwe


End file.
